


kisses sweeter than wine

by Cinaed



Series: Days of Donut [3]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Developing Relationship, First Time, Hand Jobs, Innuendo, M/M, Post-Season/Series 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-26 15:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18719545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: “I think I’d miss it if you stopped using innuendos completely,” Wash says.It’s a joke, Donut knows, though Wash sounds sincere rather than his usual deadpan. It still makes his stupid heart flutter, thinking that Wash might like even his most annoying trait. He ignores the feeling with the ease of practice. It isn’t Wash’s fault that Donut gets a crush on any guy who’s a little nice to him.--Wash and Donut have an enlightening conversation.





	kisses sweeter than wine

**Author's Note:**

> Day three of Days of Donut! 
> 
> Thanks again to Aryashi for beta-reading this for me.
> 
> **Warnings for Season 17 spoilers.**

The latest Wine and Cheese Hour is beginning to wind down when Donut notices it. He lets out a gasp of dismay. “What is _that_?” he demands, pointing an accusing finger.

“Oh, I know! It’s cheese!” Caboose says cheerfully.

“Uneaten cheese!” Donut feels the offense down to his very soul. He’s never had a Wine and Cheese Hour end before with any food or drink left, even during their sorriest days on Iris after the accidental arson, when he’d had to swap out wine with homemade moonshine and the cheese with dinosaur meat. He crosses his arms against his chest with a huff. “I realize the color is a bit unusual, but nobody wants to even try it? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Donut,” Sarge says. “The cheese is blue.”

Donut rolls his eyes. “Doctor Grey assures me that the color is perfectly natural. There’s something in the grass on Chorus that--”

“ _Blue_ ,” Sarge repeats. He sounds betrayed.

“And Doctor Grey says it tastes better than it smells!”

“Do we trust her on that?” Doc asks doubtfully.

Grif snorts. “It’d better. Eh, can’t let food go to waste. Avenge me if I die, Simmons.” He grabs a slice and pops it into his mouth. He chews as everyone watches. Finally he swallows and shrugs. “Kind of tastes like goat cheese. It’d probably taste pretty good on pizza.” He wraps up the rest in a napkin, ignoring Simmons when he says, “You’d better eat all that tonight, or your room is going to smell.”  

Donut sighs while Sarge glares at the napkin, or Grif, or, knowing Sarge, both. He makes a mental note to go back to the regular cheese spread for next time. When Tucker starts herding Caboose towards the door, Donut says, “Good night, everybody!”

Only Wash doesn’t move. “I can help you clean up,” he says.

Donut blinks at him.

Grif groans, a partially eaten piece of cheese falling out of his mouth. “Ugh. Let me guess, we should be nice and not leave Donut’s room a mess.”

“No, Grif. I think this is a two-man operation,” says Carolina, amusement in her voice. It must be an inside joke, because Wash grins and shakes his head. She presses a quick touch to Wash’s shoulder as she goes, making Donut smile at their easy camaraderie. On her way out, she grabs the napkin out of Grif’s hands.

“Hey!” he protests, following her into the hallway, making halfhearted grabs for the food. “Give me the cheese, padawan!”

After a minute, Donut and Wash are the only ones left in the room.

“Thanks for staying behind,” Donut says, smiling.

Wash shrugs, rubbing at his neck. “No problem. I mean, you host this every week, right? No one’s ever offered to help you clean up before?” Before Donut can answer, the corner of Wash’s mouth turns up into one of his wry half-smiles. “Yeah, ridiculous question. Forget I asked.”

Donut moves the trash can closer to the coffee table and starts sweeping crumpled napkins and crumbs into it. “Honestly, it’s easier to do on my own. Everyone but Simmons and Carolina would leave the place even messier. I wouldn’t ask Carolina, and Simmons and I….” He pauses, remembering the particular pitch Simmons’ voice hit as he screeched and threw a dish towel. “...disagree on how to wash and dry dishes.” When Wash doesn’t say anything, Donut replays the last few sentences in his head. He frowns. “Not that I don’t want _you_!"he says hastily. His frown turns to a wince. “Here, I mean! I’ve heard about your chore wheel. I’m sure you clean up nicely--”

He stops as Wash chuckles. In the last month or two -- it’s hard to keep track after all the time-travel -- Donut has learned that even if he knows about his inadvertent innuendos now, there’s still a fifty-fifty shot that he’ll only recognize one once it’s already left his mouth.

At least Wash looks amused. “Well, luckily I have no strong feelings about dish-washing, so I’m all yours.”

Donut’s face warms, though he knows that it’s only wishful thinking making that sounds like an innuendo too. He smiles. “Well, good. Um. Let’s get the trash cleaned up first.”

They work in silence for a second before Wash asks, “So how did Wine and Cheese Hour get started?” When Donut blinks at him, he pauses, two empty wine glasses in his hands. His eyebrows quirk upwards. “Was that a weird question?”

“No, of course not,” Donut says quickly. “It’s just, uh, I don’t think anyone’s asked me before.” Everyone had just focused on the alcohol and food, not why Donut had started it or even how he got his supplies. He shrugs. “Honestly? I was really, _really_ bored. Sure, attacking Blue Base and the Blues trying to kill us occasionally made things lively sometimes, but otherwise Blood Gulch was pretty boring.”

“You were bored,” Wash repeats. Donut can’t read his expression, but he thinks Wash is amused again.

“Yeah. Besides, Grif and Simmons had each other, and Sarge had Lopez, so I, well, I had a lot of free time on my hands.” Donut realizes too late that his answer probably sounds a little pathetic. He laughs and shrugs again, flustered by Wash’s steady gaze. It’s still weird to actually talk and have someone listen. “You’d be amazed how long it takes to discover the perfect wine and cheese pairings. That's not even getting into how many people I had to sweet talk for the supplies. My tongue got a _real_ workout!”

He hears the innuendo again too late, and makes a face. “Damn it, I just meant-- Ugh. Sorry. I swear I’m working on it. Sometimes I just don’t hear the innuendo until I’ve already said it.”

“That’s okay,” Wash says. “I think I’d miss it if you stopped using innuendos completely.”

It’s a joke, Donut knows, though Wash sounds sincere rather than his usual deadpan. It still makes his stupid heart flutter, thinking that Wash might like even his most annoying trait. He ignores the feeling with the ease of practice. It isn’t Wash’s fault that Donut gets a crush on any guy who’s a little nice to him.

And Wash has been _so_ nice to him since Donut asked for his help with Chrovos and the broken timeline. He’s apologized about shooting him, and actually meant it, and he keeps complimenting Donut and standing up for him and being interested in stuff like the origin of Wine and Cheese Hour and-- Well. It’s really easy to have a crush.  

Donut must’ve been distracted by his own thoughts, because Wash’s suddenly in his personal space.

“Here, I can help you with that,” Wash says, reaching for the trash can. Instead of immediately taking it from Donut, though, his hands cover Donut’s. It’s only for a few seconds, but it feels like a lot longer. Donut doesn’t let himself react except to quickly glance down and try to commit the feeling and sight to memory and then pretend not to notice the accidental touch as Wash steps back with the trash can. Wash’s hands had been cool against his, his skin rough. Would he be offended if Donut suggested some nice hand cream? He’s clearly skipping proper moisturizing in his nightly routine.

Donut swallows, his throat tight, and squeaks out, “Thanks! I think I’ll save the vacuuming for the morning.”

Wash’s smile fades a little. There’s a flicker of something weird in his face. Donut would call it uncertainty if he didn’t know better, because Wash doesn’t have anything to be uncertain about. Then Wash sighs and sets the trash can down. “Right,” he says. He rubs at the back of his head. He mutters something under his breath that sounds weirdly like, ‘Be direct? Easy for you to say, Carolina.’ Before Donut can ask him to repeat himself, Wash coughs. “So, uh, I’m going to say something, and you can tell me to shut up at any point, okay?”

“Uh, okay,” Donut says. Nerves make his stomach lurch. He wishes that he was still holding the trash can, because at least he’d have something to do with his hands. He twists them nervously behind his back. He’s convinced, suddenly, that Wash has noticed his crush and just wanted some privacy to nicely tell him to get over it. His face gets hot, his heart beating anxiously, and he almost misses it when Wash starts to speak.

“Maybe I was being too subtle? Or maybe you’ve noticed and this is your way of letting me down easy. You’re a nice guy like that. But uh, just in case it’s the first thing and you seriously haven’t noticed me trying to flirt, I, uh, am trying to flirt with you.”

Donut stares. He hears the words, understands them even, but they don’t register.

He stares for too long, because Wash’s mouth twists. “And if it’s the second thing, can we pretend the last thirty seconds didn’t happen and I’m just helping you clean up because I’m a good guy?”

Donut opens his mouth, but nothing comes out except a drawn-out, “Uuuuuuuuuuuh.”

Wash frowns. His hand twitches, half-rising before dropping back to his side. “Donut? Donut, are you okay?” He laughs a little, though it sounds strained. “Blink twice if you can hear me.”  

Donut draws in a deep breath. His head’s spinning. “This isn’t a joke?” The question slips out of his lips before he realizes he’s asking it, quiet and tentative. He instinctively braces himself.  

Wash looks slightly exasperated now. “Yeah, you got me, Donut. I’m totally playing a joke and not trying to confess anything here,” he deadpans, sounding like himself again. Then he shrugs. “I, uh, look. I’d get it if you didn’t like me back. Our history is...complicated….” He trails off, but his eyes dip down, his expression briefly clouding over. Donut knows he’s thinking of bullet wounds and scars. He shakes his head. “I’m just saying, Carolina thought you liked me back, and _wow_ , I sound like a sixteen-year-old with a crush--”

“You talked to Carolina about this?”

“I needed advice,” Wash says, embarrassed.

“And you asked _Carolina_?” Donut says, before he shakes his head. “Right. She’s the best option out of everyone.” He shudders briefly. “Can you imagine what Kaikaina would have suggested? Or Grif? Or Sarge? Or--” He’s babbling, he realizes, and snaps his mouth shut. Shock is giving way to tentative hope. He licks his lips. “Um. She was right.”

“She was,” Wash repeats. He begins to smile. “So that means--”

“We can do this,” Donut says, stepping in close. He touches Wash’s jaw, the faint stubble there. Hope blooms into giddy happiness as Wash shivers. This close he can see every pore on Wash’s face, the small indentations left behind on his lower lip where Wash has been biting his mouth, the smile and frown lines in his forehead. “But we do have to talk about one very serious thing first.”

Wash’s spreading smile falters. He looks searchingly at Donut. “Yeah?”

“Oh, not that,” Donut says with a dismissive wave towards his own chest. “You already apologized and honestly, I don’t want to think about it again for a while. No, I’m talking about your skin care routine. Or rather, your lack of one. Do you even moisturize?”

There’s a beat of silence. “You want to talk about my skin care routine,” Wash says slowly.

“Yes,” Donut says. He swallows down a giggle at the baffled look on Wash's face. He’s pretty sure he’s delirious with happiness. “Daily care can be very rewarding.” He demonstrates by stroking along Wash’s jaw. He knows for a fact that his hand is as soft as silk.

Wash sucks in a breath, his eyes darkening. “You make a good point,” he says. His voice is husky; each deep note makes Donut want to kiss him.

With a start of amazed surprise, Donut realizes there’s nothing to stop him. He starts to lean forward, but then Wash takes Donut’s hand and kisses his open palm, and Donut forgets his plans. It’s like an electrical shock. Now it’s Donut’s turn to shiver, and then shiver again when Wash brushes another kiss to his fingertips. He makes a disappointed noise when Wash stops kissing him.

“Do you still want to talk about skin care?”

Donut blinks. It takes him a second to refocus on Wash’s teasing smile, his bright eyes. Now he does giggle, delighted beyond measure. “Maybe later,” he says and then closes the distance between them. Wash’s mouth still tastes faintly of wine, and even more faintly of the blue cheese.

Donut giggles again. He’s still laughing as he lets Wash maneuver them both towards the couch. Then he plants his hand in the middle of Wash’s chest and pushes him down onto the cushions. He pauses for a second, just looking his fill. He’s let himself daydream, of course, but the real thing is always better than fantasy. Now he can study the lines of Wash’s face and see how he looks almost unfamiliar with desire, flushed and grinning, and learn the way Wash's mouth looks after it's been kissed.

He touches Wash’s jaw again, feeling the stubble catch at his skin. He licks his lips. A few of the daydreams come back in full force. Heat settles in his belly. He asks, “Are you sure you don’t want a beard?”

“It was itchy,” Wash says, a mild denial. Then he turns his head, trying to kiss Donut’s fingertips. “Why?”

Donut tsks at him. “I bet you didn’t use beard oil or conditioner.” He climbs onto the couch. Wash’s hands settle on his hips as Donut straddles him. He kisses Wash slowly, distracted by the way Wash sighs against his mouth. He slides his hand to the back of Wash’s neck, careful around the scars there, and holds him still when Wash tries to deepen the kiss. He brushes light kisses against Wash’s mouth, his jaw, his throat, mouthing at Wash’s jumping pulse point, until Wash is squirming and breathing hard, his fingers digging into Donut’s hips. It’s better than anything he ever imagined.

“Donut,” Wash says, half-gasping his name. “There’s taking it slow and then there’s being a tease.”

Donut laughs. “You know, I’ve heard that before?” Then he hesitates. Even seeing the heat and affection in Wash’s eyes, even knowing Wash actually likes him, his stomach still flutters with nerves as he admits, “But I want to savor this. I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

Wash’s expression softens. “Yeah. So have I.”  

Donut shouldn’t be surprised after Wash confessed earlier, but he still feels his face warm at the unexpected sincerity. He covers up his flustered surprise with another laugh and a bright, “Oh, really? How long? Don’t tell me we’ve both been pining and wasting time!”

Wash laughs. “Well, it wasn’t exactly pining at first. More, uh--” He licks his lips, seeming to weigh his words, and then deadpans, “Let’s just say getting an eyeful of you on Iris gave me some, uh, very nice dreams.”

“Oh!” Donut says, curious, delighted, and even more turned on by the thought. “I want to hear _all_ about those.” As Wash grins, something occurs to Donut and he pouts. “Oh, wait! All I’ve seen is your beautiful face, while you’ve seen everything! There’s no surprises left for you!”

“Donut, I’m pretty sure you’re _always_ gonna surprise me,” Wash says.

The fondness in his voice grabs Donut’s heart and squeezes it.

Wash’s hands slip under Donut’s shirt. His rough fingers brush Donut’s stomach, making the muscles there jump and Donut gasp. He adds with a grin, “Besides, there’s a difference between getting to look and getting to touch.”

“Good point,” Donut says breathlessly. He lets Wash pull off his shirt. He preens a little under Wash’s appreciative gaze, at least until Wash’s eyes snag on the scars. When Wash’s expression starts to cloud, Donut knows he has to shut that down before Wash starts feeling guilty again and kills the mood. He kisses Wash and then plucks at the hem of Wash’s shirt. “Well, _I_ still haven’t gotten an eyeful, so let’s fix that.”  

Wash, beginning to smile again, starts to reach for his hem.

Donut grabs his wrists before he can. Wash blinks at him. He brings Wash’s hands up to his lips and kisses his knuckles. The surprise melts from Wash’s face, replaced by welcome heat as Donut says, “I want to savor this, remember? Let me.”

“Yeah,” Wash says. “I'm all yours.”

The words make Donut forget how to breathe for a second. Then he laughs, his heart beating fast in his chest. He kisses Wash’s hands again. “Okay, mister, if you want to go slow, you can’t say stuff like that!”

“Who says I want to go slow?”

The question’s like another shock, sparking down Donut’s spine. He swallows, his mouth dry with want, and doesn’t miss the way Wash’s eyes flick down, past the scars and to his erection. “Now who’s being a tease,” Donut scolds, his voice rough.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, tugging Wash’s shirt off. Donut strokes his fingers down Wash’s stomach, feeling each unsteady breath as Wash shudders under his exploring hands. Donut tries to take things slow, to map out Wash’s skin, memorize everything -- the mole low on his stomach like it’s waiting for a kiss, the puckered bullet scar that Donut will ask about another time. But it’s hard to fight his own rising impatience, harder still not to slide to his knees in front of the couch like he’s imagined countless times before, especially when Wash keeps saying his name and looking at him like that.

His hands falter as Wash cradles Donut’s face between his hands and kisses him, hotly, urgently, but with a sweetness that makes Donut’s eyes sting.

You can savor something without going slow, Donut decides. He can’t bear to pull away from Wash’s mouth, so he winds up fumbling blindly, one hand on Wash’s shoulder, the other searching for the edge of Wash’s pants. He palms Wash through the fabric, smiling into the kiss when Wash groans. He's half-tempted to touch himself as well, but he focuses on Wash, the way he breathes roughly against Donut's mouth and rocks into his hand when Donut strokes him again.

After a few more seconds, though, Wash draws his head back slightly, breaking the kiss. His face is flushed, his eyes dark, but Donut’s dismayed to see a frown on his face. Before his stomach can start to sink, though, Wash glances down and says, “Forgetting something?”

“What?” Donut says, blinking. He follows Wash’s gaze, confused. Does he mean that Donut should take off Wash’s pants and stop dicking around and actually jerk him off? It’s an appealing idea. He grins, thumbing open Wash’s pants. “Oh, okay--”

Wash makes a little noise in his throat, sounding almost frustrated, and reaches down. He yanks at Donut’s pants and practically shoves his hand inside; Donut’s brain blanks out at the first sensation of cool fingers touching his dick. Wash’s hand gentles, and then he’s pulling Donut free of his pants.

“Oh,” Donut says, the word catching in his throat. Wash rubs his thumb down the length of him. The sensation almost makes Donut come then and there. He bites his lip, groaning when Wash repeats the motion.

“Yeah,” Wash says, voice rough. His other hand curves around Donut’s jaw, tilts Donut’s head so that their foreheads touch. Donut can’t tell who’s breathing harder between the two of them. For a second they just stay like that. Then Wash kisses him again, clumsy, and says, “I want--”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Donut thinks he’s understands this time. Donut shifts his weight, looking down just long enough to get Wash’s dick out and lick his lips at the sight of it. Then he wraps his hand around both of them, his fingers sliding across Wash’s as he presses their dicks together.

“Yeah,” Wash repeats. This close, Donut can see the sweat darkening Wash’s hair, can witness in glorious slow motion how Wash catches his lip between his teeth and breathes sharply, his throat working while he thrusts into their shared grip. “That’s-- that’s perfect, just--” His head falls back against the couch, exposing his scarred throat as he gasps.

Donut stops for a moment, stunned by the sight of Wash sprawled bonelessly against the couch, his entire body an open invitation for Donut to touch and kiss. The ache between his legs is almost more pain than pleasure now. He clings to each sensation as he goes back to kissing Wash: the feeling of Wash’s dick rubbing against his own, the way Wash’s touches grow slick and clumsy from cum, the sound of his name on Wash’s lips.

Donut doesn’t know if he can bear this much happiness. He kisses the underside of Wash’s jaw, mouths at Wash’s pulse-point, works them both over as he murmurs encouragement against Wash’s skin. When he comes, he doesn't bother to muffle the sounds.

Wash shudders, Donut’s name half-caught between his teeth, and comes with a strangled gasp. Warm cum lands on Donut’s stomach and thighs, coats his hand. They both shiver through the aftershocks, hands still curled loosely around their dicks.

Gradually Donut’s heartbeat slows. The giddiness lingers, like his orgasm has turned his mind to mush. The couch feels distant and unreal beneath him. He should do something, he thinks, and then feels the stickiness of the cum as it starts to dry. He lets go of Wash with reluctance, fumbling for the handful of unused napkins on the coffee table.

Wash’s eyes are closed, but when Donut moves, he opens them. He glances down. One corner of his mouth turns up. “Huh. Didn’t exactly help you with the mess after all.”   

Donut laughs, passing some of the napkins to him. Their fingers brush, and one last spark goes down Donut’s spine. “Nope. You’ll just have to stick around a bit longer.” He watches Wash start to wipe off the evidence. Uncertainty creeps into his dazed happiness. Shouldn’t it be more complicated than this, with their history? It doesn’t feel complicated. It feels easy, like they’ve done this all a hundred times before, and will do it a hundred times more. Donut’s heart turns over at the thought.

He’s so distracted by his own churning thoughts that he almost misses the way Wash’s smile fades, doubt reflecting back at Donut like a twisted mirror of uncertainty. Worry lines mar Wash’s brow. His lips part, like he’s about to say something, and then close.

Donut lets out a breath. He’s being an idiot. He’s second-guessing happiness just because he’s used to disappointment. In other words, he's trying to be an angsty bitch. He grabs onto hope, grounding himself with a slow, half-apologetic kiss. He can feel the tension ease from Wash, and Wash is smiling again even before Donut adds, “Maybe you should stay the night.”

“I,” Wash says. Donut is still close enough that he can feel Wash’s soft breath. His smile widens. “Yeah.”

Donut’s chest gives another twinge, this time at the idea waking up in the morning and seeing Wash in his bed. The joy bubbles up in him and he has to laugh and kiss Wash again. When they pause, he adds, “Besides, I have a face mask with your name on it.”

“So you were serious about that,” Wash says, amused, and Donut wiggles a finger.

“If we're going to make this work, you need to understand something, Wash. I am _always_ serious about skin care.”  


End file.
